


mirror image

by MidnightBlueMoon



Series: December 2018 [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBlueMoon/pseuds/MidnightBlueMoon
Summary: When she looked at him for more than a second, she could see what disturbed her about him – it was as if she looked into a mirror.





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**Author's Note:**

> Day 8.

When Murphy had grabbed her arm and tried to tell her that, maybe, they should leave, she had pushed him away. But she had not been fast enough to miss the pain in his eyes, the sadness that came with knowing this feeling of loss.  
It only made sense that she didn't hate him anymore. When she looked at him for more than a second, she could see what disturbed her about him – it was as if she looked into a mirror.  
He had lost his parents too, he had been betrayed by someone he trusted, he had fought and killed and slaughtered for his people. He had seen madness and death, and he had pushed through, and afterwards, he had had no-one.  
He had been betrayed by Bellamy. He had lost his father for a crime that had been done out of love. He had lost his mother. He had the same luck with falling in love – because Clarke recognized the painful expression in his eyes, when he looked at Bellamy, right before he had been floated.  
So maybe it only made sense that she fell into his arms after Lexa's death.  
The door had been locked and Murphy had been kicking and screaming – as opposed to Clarke's numbness. He didn't stop, his energy seemingly didn’t run out, until Clarke had touched his arm and told him to stop. Maybe it was something in her voice – quiet, broken – maybe it was her eyes – red, empty – or maybe it had been something else.  
She didn't know. But suddenly she found herself in a bone-crushing hug, pressed tightly against someone she used to hate, with blood all over her clothes and all over him.  
And maybe it made sense when her body slumped and her face ended up being buried in Murphy's neck. Maybe the way she clutched him wasn’t crazy, and maybe she needed him to say _I've got you_  and _I'm sorry, Clarke._  Maybe it had to be him.


End file.
